Archaelogical Mysteries

The note, in my usual indeciperable-only-to-me (and sometimes not even me) scribble says "Call Craig. Life Something Something. 770-426-xxxx)." The problem, of course, is that I can no longer make out the Something something part of the note and don't have a clue who Craig is or why I should call him. This is one of several telephone numbers written on slivers of paper or on the calendar beside the computer. The problem, typically, is that I write down the Very Important Phone Number in a rush to commit it to paper, only to fail to note whose phone number it is or why it is Very Important. Then, a day or week or two later, said number resurfaces and I don't have a clue who or what it is about. But the fact that I have written it down must mean it's Very Important. So I will hold onto for about seven years or the next time we move house, whichever comes first. So, Craig, whoever and wherever you are, the ball's in your court. I know I have written your name and number down and I suppose that means I'm supposed to call you about something Very Important. But for now it will have to be important enough for you to call me. I think it will be amusing some day when archaeologists sift through the detritus of our civilization and find all these little slivers of paper: "Obviously, these people wrote prayer wishes in their language on little slivers of paper and left them about their abodes as a way of making supplication to their deities."